Saving Forever (The Ever Trilogy: Book 3) (21 page)

“You, too,” Eden said, and then, once the door was swinging closed behind us she muttered, “TMI, much? Jesus.”

I laughed. “She was a little…exuberant.”

Eden stared at me. “Exuberant? She was fucking
ecstatic
! How could anyone be that happy about shitting a watermelon out of her vagina? It’s unnatural.” She made her voice go high-pitched, mimicking the other woman. “‘It’s magical!’ God. I’m so nervous I could puke, and now I’m worried about upside-down babies and C-sections.”
 

The nurse patted Eden’s arm. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see. Just relax. Let me get you up on this scale first, okay?”

Eden stepped up on the scale, and then shooed me away with her hand. “Don’t watch this part.”

I snorted, but turned away. The nurse seemed perplexed. “You’re not honestly concerned about him knowing your weight, are you?” She obviously assumed we were together, and that I was the father. “That’s just silly.”

“He’s not—” Eden started, then stopped. “It’s just a pet peeve.”
 

I shoved my hands in my pockets, examining a poster on the wall until the nurse led Eden and me into an ultrasound room.
 

“Just lie down and sit tight, sweetie,” the nurse said. “Lisa will be here to perform the ultrasound in just a moment.”

“Do I—do I need to change or anything?”

The nurse shook her head. “Oh, no. This is a standard external ultrasound. She’ll just roll your shirt up a bit and move the wand over your belly. Nothing to worry about.” She was gone with a perky smile and a click of the door.

Eden let out a shaky breath, and then slid gingerly onto the exam table, smoothing her hands over her stomach. “It’s just an ultrasound. Why am I so nervous?” She looked at me, her eyes wide and fearful.

I reached out and took her hand. “Why wouldn’t you be nervous? It’s normal. And I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

This time, Eden threaded our fingers together. “Thank you, Carter. I think I would’ve fainted if you hadn’t been here.”

I squeezed her hand and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Eden looked up to the ceiling and let out shaky breath. “God, why do you always make me cry? I swear to God I normally don’t cry this much.” She tried to smile at me but couldn’t quite manage it.
 

“Just blame it on the pregnancy hormones, yeah?” I joked.

Eden laughed, sniffing. “It is that, to some degree. But it’s also…everything else. Ever. Caden. The whole thing. I’m just a mess.”

“Here’s the thing about messes, Eden: they can be cleaned up.”

“Not mine.”

“Yes, even yours.”

The ultrasound tech came in at that moment, a slim, middle-aged woman with brown hair going silver at the temples and a kind smile. “Eden, how are you? I’m Lisa.”
 

“Hi, Lisa. I’m okay.”

Lisa sat on the swiveling desk chair and rolled across the room to sit at the ultrasound machine, glancing at Eden. “Okay, huh? You look like you might be a little nervous. Am I right?” Eden just nodded. “Well, that’s perfectly normal. We’re just gonna take some measurements, make sure Baby is developing on track and all that, and, of course, we’ll determine the gender, assuming he or she cooperates and gives me a good shot. Just hold onto Daddy’s hand, and everything will be fine.”
 

Eden didn’t correct the assumption that I was the father, and neither did I. I understood why, too. Explanations were far harder than just going along with incorrect assumptions. It was simpler, and I didn’t blame her.
 

Lisa squirted a bit of blue goo on the wand, and then touched it to Eden’s belly and smeared it around. “It’s a bit cold at first, but it’ll warm up.” She moved the wand around, wiggled it back and forth, swept it from one side of Eden’s belly. “Let’s see…a-ha. There’s the baby. See?”

Eden and I both looked at the black and white images on the screen. Things were blotchy and distorted at first, but then shapes began to appear. I saw the curvature of the skull, a leg, an arm.
 

Lisa pushed a button and moved the wand around a bit, hunting for the right angle. “Looks good so far. Baby is head down already, which is good news. Ten fingers, ten toes. There’s the heart, pumping steadily, but we’ll look at that again later. Lungs. And…oh, come on, move for me, huh?” Lisa seemed to be talking partly to herself, partly to the screen, to the baby, and to us. She moved the wand up to the top of Eden’s belly, angled it downward, and then shifted it incrementally one way and then another, altering the image on the screen slightly. Finally, she seemed to find the angle she was looking for. “A-ha! Gotcha!”
 

She tapped a couple of buttons, and a machine spat out pictures of the image on-screen.
 

“I’ve got a good potty-shot, here.” She glanced from me to Eden and back. “So. You want to know the gender, or is it a surprise?”

Eden blinked a few times. “Tell me. Please.” Her frightened green eyes met mine. “Us, I mean. Tell us.”

Lisa didn’t seem to notice the “me/us” gaffe. She pointed at the screen. “See that? It’s a girl! Clear as day, no question.” A few more taps, and another set of ultrasound pictures printed out.

Eden teared up. “A girl.”

“Have any names picked out?” Lisa asked as she swiveled the wand around, tapping buttons and scrolling and turning the screen to shifting colors and back to black-and-white, measuring various things.
 

Eden hesitated for a long time. I’d never asked her if she’d thought of names. I somehow didn’t think she had.
 

Her voice was barely a whisper. “No, I—no.” Her hand squeezed mine so hard it hurt.

EVER

castaway

Christmas was fast approaching. I’d been out of my coma for over six months now, and things with Caden had reached a kind of plateau. They weren’t getting any worse, but they weren’t getting any better, either. He was distant, as if some part of him was wandering the earth, separated from his body. As if he was hiding behind a wall. I could see him and I could feel him, hold him, kiss him, love him, but there was a part of Caden that I simply couldn’t reach, no matter how much I tried. And for my part, the constant effort to reach him, to get him to talk to me, to open up on his own was sapping me of strength—and worse, of my desire to even try anymore.
 

Things had to change, but I just didn’t know how.
 

I’d been working at the office, answering phones and filing paperwork, which wasn’t exactly taxing work, but it kept me busy. And it also left my mind free to wander. Aside from the question of Caden, the thing most on my mind was Eden. I called her phone once a week, and it always rang once, and then went to the full voicemail message. I tried her email, and never got a response. I went by her dorm room, talked to her old roommate. I talked to the college office, who only knew that she’d officially withdrawn, no reason given. I even called Dad, who didn’t answer and didn’t return my call. Asshole.
 

Everywhere I went, I found myself looking for her, as if she was somewhere close by, but was just avoiding me. I knew this wasn’t the case. When she’d come by the Home, just after I woke up, she’d said goodbye. And to remember that she loved me. To never doubt that, no matter what.
 

I doubted. Why did she leave? Why? I needed her. I needed her to tell me what I was doing wrong in terms of Caden. I needed her to eat ice cream with me when I couldn’t take Cade’s morose silences anymore. I needed to hear her play her cello.
 

God, what was the name of her cello? Some Greek god. Apollo? That was it.
 

I twisted the problem around and around in my head, worrying at it, trying to think of various reasons why she might have run away from me. Maybe she was terminally sick, and didn’t want me to know. She was a lesbian. She was pregnant. She’d eloped with some guy. None of them fit. None of them made any sense. She had to know I’d never judge her, no matter what. She was my twin. She was as much a part of me as my arms and legs and lungs. Yet she’d run away.
 

There was only one place I could think of that she might have gone. The cabin, up north. The problem was, there was no phone there, and I couldn’t find the address book that had the address written down. We hadn’t been up there since we were…what, eleven? A couple of years before Mom died. I knew it had been in Mom’s name, and after her death Dad had gotten a caretaker for it, and had registered it in Eden’s and my name. He hadn’t been able to stomach going there, I think. He and Mom had spent a lot of time there before Eden and I were born, and once she was gone, he couldn’t take the reminder. I hadn’t really thought much about the cabin in the intervening years.
 

I thought of going up there, but I wasn’t sure I had the courage. What if she wasn’t there? What if she’d gone somewhere else, somewhere I’d never be able to find her? What if the reason she’d left had something to do with me? Some reason I couldn’t fathom, a reason that would have driven her away from me?

A niggling seed of an idea germinated in the deep, dark pit of my belly, but I denied it, pushed it away. Refused to let it bloom into a full-fledged question. There had to be some explanation, some reason for it all.
 

After Christmas, I’d go. I’d drive up there, and just see if she was there. Christmas was the two-year anniversary of the accident. And the closer December 24
th
got, the more tense and silent Caden became. He’d sit at the kitchen table, sketching. Page after page. Obsessively. The same thing, again and again. My eyes. Various expressions, but always my eyes.
 

He gave me monosyllabic answers if I asked him a question. He’d sit beside me and watch if I turned on the TV, but he never asked to change the channel, never commented. Just sat in silence, watching until the program was over.
 

He’d respond if I touched him, but it seemed automatic, rather than from desire. And when we did make love, it was in silence. Gone were the grunts of need, the gasps of pleasure, the impassioned pleas for more. The sighs and the whispered protestations of love were a thing of the past.
 

By Christmas, sex was almost a memory.
 

On the anniversary of the accident, Christmas Eve, Caden didn’t get out of bed. At noon, I finally went in and sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet. He was awake, staring at the wall. He didn’t even look at me when I sat down.
 

“Caden?” He slowly shifted his gaze to mine, and when he did, the pain and despair in his eyes was enough to make me want to cry. “Talk to me. Please.”

He shook his head and looked away.
 

“Cade. Baby. I’m here. Look at me. Talk to me. I’m scared, Cade. What’s wrong with you?”

He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, and shook his head. And then I watched as he gathered himself, wormed his way to a sitting position. “Sorry, Ev. I’m just…I keep seeing the accident. In my head, over and over.”

I took his hands, slid closer to him. “I’m here now. I’m okay. I’m better.” I bent my head to hide my tears. “Come back to me.”

He moved his knees apart and pulled me against his chest. I lay back against him, and felt his breath on my hair. “I’m trying. God, I’m sorry, Ever. You need better. Deserve better. And I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t get it. Where are you? What’s going on with you? Talk to me, Cade. Please, talk to me.” I grabbed his hands where they were crossed over my breastbone. “I need you. And I—I feel like I can’t find you.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m here. I’m awake. It’s Christmas. Shouldn’t we both be happy? Celebrating?”

“I
am
happy you’re back. More than you know. More than I can express.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way,” I whispered. “It feels like…like you resent me.” I almost asked him what he was hiding from me. Why he seemed so consumed with guilt.

Before I could, he heaved a deep breath in and let it out. “Let’s go celebrate. Right now. Have a fancy dinner. Maybe see a movie.” He’d clearly made a herculean effort to banish the nightmares and the guilt. He sounded almost happy, almost genuine. I knew, though, if I turned to search his gaze, his amber eyes would still hold hidden pain and deeply buried torment.
 

Instead of pushing it, I took what he was offering. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”

We both showered—separately—and dressed, and ended up at Andiamo, sipping on expensive red wine and sharing an appetizer as we waited for our entrees. Conversation stayed light, and I could tell Cade was trying as hard as he could to keep the darkness inside him at bay. I was grateful. As dinner progressed, I almost managed to forget everything. He was as close to his old self as I’d seen him since I woke up. I almost felt happy, a little. I almost felt hope that we could truly find peace in each other once more.
 

Almost. Nearly. But his eyes betrayed him, though. The slight stoop to his shoulders, the way his knee bounced and his gaze shifted from place to place, rather than ever really settling on mine. As if he was afraid of meeting my eyes, afraid that I’d look too deeply and see the truth.
 

I wanted to tell him I didn’t
want
the truth. I wanted happiness. I wanted to be able to feel like I had a new lease on life. I’d nearly died, and had been comatose for a year and a half. I shouldn’t be here. But I was, and that should be a source of joy. Yet it wasn’t. Without Cade as my center, I was adrift, castaway. I couldn’t find the earth beneath me, couldn’t find the sky. Couldn’t find up, or down. I could only slip from one day to the next, wake up and go to school and go to work. I was playing at life. Pretending at adulthood.
 

It was all empty. I was empty.
 

Cade sensed my mood as we picked at dessert. “Ever…don’t—don’t give up on me, okay? I know I’ve been a mess lately, and I’m sorry. I love you. So much.” He set his fork down and wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, sat back and finally, for the first time all night, met my eyes. “Don’t give up on me. Please. I’ll—get better. I’ll do better.”